


i just wanted you to know (that this is me trying)

by lastontheboat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Fred Weasley Lives, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Oh god the pining, Pining, Post-War, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, discussion of the existence of sex toys, fred is a Flirt, george and hermione have their shit together, smut-free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastontheboat/pseuds/lastontheboat
Summary: Harry's a bi disaster and Fred keeps winking at him. What's a saviour of the wizarding world to do?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Fred Weasley, Hermione Granger/George Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 172





	i just wanted you to know (that this is me trying)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [This_Time_I_Wont_Regret_My_Username](https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_Time_I_Wont_Regret_My_Username/gifts).



> Written based on a throwaway conversation wherein Blue expressed a desire to read a Harry/Fred fic and my brain wouldn't leave the idea alone.
> 
> Happy birthday, Blue! You are a delight and I'm glad to know you; I hope you can overlook the lack of angst in favour of the sheer volume of fluff contained in these pages.
> 
> Many thanks to [manixzen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manixzen/pseuds/manixzen) for helping smooth out this fic's rough edges!

It's Sunday dinner at The Burrow, and Harry is sitting next to Fred, and everything is terrible. 

Harry is pretty sure he hasn’t tasted any of his dinner so far. If Molly knew that she would give him A Look and an extra helping of everything—he will never stop being a growing boy in her mind, even if he’s already partway through Auror training and sharing a flat with Ron in London. 

Harry makes himself take a drink and try to relax. The table is crowded and boisterous as usual, and Fred’s thigh shifts against Harry’s as he raises the cup to his lips. Suddenly all he can think about is how closely they’re pressed, and he ends up taking a much larger drink than he intended and starts to cough as it goes down the wrong way. By his third bout of coughing the rest of the table is looking at him in concern, and Harry’s trying to wave them off while still getting enough breath to stay upright. 

“Clap once if you need Fred to give you the kiss of life,” George says helpfully from across the table. Unfortunately, this just makes Harry cough harder. 

“George!” Molly chastises him. 

“What?” George asks. “I’d have offered, but Fred’s closer. And I think it would be less awkward than getting Ginny to do it.” If Harry wasn’t focused on getting enough oxygen, he’d glare at the other twin. 

Ginny flips her brother off discreetly from Harry’s other side, but Molly has eagle eyes. “Ginevra!” she says, sounding cross. “Will someone help poor Harry?” 

“I’m fine!” Harry manages, hoarsely. “Just went down wrong.” At some point Fred’s hand has ended up on his back, supporting him, and he’s almost sad when the coughing fit finally lets up and the warm presence of Fred’s fingers splayed on his shoulder blades disappears. 

“Had us worried there for a second!” Arthur says jovially as he cuts into his meat. “Small sips, that’s the trick.” 

Harry nods and reaches for his glass again, but he stops as Fred’s leg moves against his once more. It’s actually torture, being this close to his current infatuation. He had thought Sunday dinners were bad enough when he would sit across the table from Fred and have to drag his gaze away from him, lest everyone notice that he just wants to stare at him the whole time. Then Luna joined them this time, and the short notice meant that there are slightly too many people for comfort squeezed around the old harvest table. 

“I hope no one is trying to poison you, Harry,” Luna says earnestly. She proceeds to take a loud slurp of her soup as the conversation around her pauses. 

“Why would someone try to poison me?” Harry finally asks into the silence. He assumes that there’s some reason Luna’s brought this possibility up, but he can’t see it. 

Luna looks up from her bowl at him, her gaze slightly too wide-eyed and making Harry nervous. “Oh,” she said. “The thirteenth Minister of Magic was poisoned by the earliest members of what became the Rotfang conspiracy, and they covered it up to look like he choked on his lunch. It would be a shame if that happened to you as well!” 

“Luna’s right,” Fred says, and Harry can hear the grin in his voice. “It would be a terrible shame if you were poisoned. Just to be safe, you should probably never eat again.” 

Harry can’t help laughing at this, which is a pity because he just took a drink and some of it ends up dribbling out of his mouth as he frantically tries to keep the rest of it from spilling out. He hears Fred chuckle and looks to his right; Fred is gazing back at him, clearly amused by Harry’s plight. Harry feels himself blushing as he attempts to swallow everything that remains. 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Fred says, and before Harry knows what’s happening Fred is lifting his napkin to wipe away the butterbeer that’s on Harry’s face. “You can let yourself be poisoned if you want, but I will definitely make a fuss about it at your funeral,” he says, mock seriously, and he leans forward a little bit to inspect Harry’s face. “I would be very sad if the Rotfang conspiracy had you killed off.” 

Harry finds he can barely breathe. Fred’s smiling at him, eyes twinkling, but his dabs are so gentle and caring. Harry is afraid to move. “Er,” he says. “Yeah. Me too.” Fred’s grin grows a little wider, and Harry’s done for. He’s a goner. 

“Enough talk of poisoning!” Molly says, sounding a bit cross, and the moment is abruptly broken. “Who wants a slice of pie?” 

The babble of conversation around the table resumes, and Harry finds himself able to breathe again as Fred’s attention turns towards the promise of pie. Hermione claims she’s full, but inevitably starts stealing bites off of George’s piece, who smiles indulgently at her. In the chaos of everything Ron ends up with two slices, and he munches away at them happily while he listens to Luna expound on her theory of how the Sacred 28 are being infiltrated by fae changelings. On his left, Ginny has stolen Charlie’s fork in order to demonstrate a Quidditch move over his plate, and Harry looks around the table at his friends, his family, and feels suffused with warmth and affection for them all. 

It isn’t until Fred turns to say something witty to Fleur on his other side, and his leg brushes Harry’s once more, that Harry remembers that everything is actually terrible after all, and he decides to drown his sorrows in the slice of pie that Molly passes to him. 

* * *

Harry takes to dropping into Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes whenever he’s in the neighbourhood. That makes it sound like he’s visiting the shop a perfectly normal and healthy number of times a month, but he quickly starts inventing reasons to be in Diagon Alley so he can wander the aisles of the shop and talk himself into asking Fred out. 

He starts by trying to convince himself that it’s a good idea at all. He and Fred are friends. They’re good friends, even. Sometimes Fred winks at him after telling a joke, and it makes Harry feel like somebody cast a full-body warming charm on him. 

_Focus_ , Harry tells himself. He and Fred are good friends. Friends get crushes on each other sometimes! And it’s perfectly reasonable to ask a good friend you have a crush on out on a date. That’s a thing that real, functioning human beings do, he’s pretty sure. 

He’s loitering around the instant darkness powder display, where a slightly manic garden gnome is employed to toss a small pinch on the ground at random intervals. That was George’s idea, offering jobs in the store to the gnomes living in his family’s garden, and he’s pretty sure it was the thing that sealed the deal with him as far as Hermione is concerned. They’ve been together for almost two years; perhaps Harry should just pull Hermione aside and ask her what the secret is to attracting a Weasley twin’s attention. 

The gnome-on-duty shouts something in Gnomish, startling Harry out of his thoughts, then chucks some powder on the ground. There’s a sudden burst of darkness around Harry, and he quickly steps backwards out of the cloud and directly into a shelf, knocking over a batch of prank crystal balls and sending them rolling in the aisle. To his horror, one of them actually breaks open when it hits the ground, spilling glitter and water all over the floor. 

“Careful now,” comes the voice of Fred. To his horror, Harry realizes that the co-owner of the shop has watched the whole thing unfold from the other side of the aisle. 

“I’m so sorry!” Harry exclaims, reaching down and scrambling to pick up the crystal balls slowly rolling on the ground around him. “I just wasn't expecting it.” 

“What happened to those Auror reflexes they're supposed to be teaching you?” Fred asks teasingly, rounding the corner of the aisle as he approaches. He’s grinning, and sounds remarkably more composed than Harry feels at that moment as the water on the ground soaks into his trousers. 

“I, uh, think that's next week’s curriculum,” Harry says weakly as he tries to gather up the unbroken crystal balls. 

Fred chuckles and motions him away. “Don’t worry,” he says. “This happens at least once a week. We really should do something about it, like not surprise customers next to the breakable things.” With a wave of his wand, the crystal balls in Harry's arms drift into the air up to shelf height and settle gently into their original positions. Harry stands back up, feeling a bit foolish and damp. “So,” Fred says, “apart from vandalism and destruction of property, what brings you to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes today?” He leans against the shelf and winks at Harry mischievously. 

Harry swallows. His mind has gone studiously blank when faced with Fred’s undivided attention. Even if he had any idea how to ask him out in the abstract, he can’t imagine doing so in this particular situation, having just made a fool of himself. “I, er,” he stalls. “I just came in to check out your latest… Fanged Frisbees? I’m thinking of getting one for Teddy. For his birthday.” 

“Teddy's birthday that's in April?” Fred asks, sounding amused. “When it's October?” 

“You know me,” Harry says, attempting to sound like he's not panicking. “Always planning ahead.” 

They are interrupted by the sound of a bell being rung at the front counter. “That’ll be for me,” Fred says, and he gives Harry a lopsided smile. “Let me know if there's anything else we can do for you, alright?” 

“Ha ha, nope, Fanged Frisbees are the only thing I need in my life right now! ” Harry says, a bit manically. 

“That’s the spirit!” Fred says as he walks away. 

These days, Harry pays for products from the Weasleys’ shop like any other customer—he hated the special treatment, and he finally won that argument with the twins last year. When Harry approaches the counter five minutes later, he’s carrying a twelve-pack of the Frisbees because they were on sale and he felt bad about the crystal ball thing from earlier. Fred gives Harry an oddly considering look as he rings him up. 

“Teddy will love them,” Harry says with confidence that he doesn't actually feel. 

“You could keep some for yourself and he’d never know,” Fred suggests. 

“Maybe I'll come back tomorrow for my own pack,” Harry’s mouth says before his brain can stop it. He focuses on counting out the exact change so he doesn't have to see Fred’s reaction. 

Fred’s only response is a cheerful, “Customer's always right!” After a moment he adds: “Might have to add a celebrity endorsement, though. Something like: ‘Fanged Frisbees - as chosen by the Chosen One!’” 

Harry looks up at him and Fred is grinning cheekily. “In your dreams,” he says. “I can always take my business to Zonko’s.” 

“And what lovely dreams they will be,“ Fred says, sounding wistful. “See you, Harry!” 

* * *

The next day Harry finds himself pulling open the door to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes once training is over for the day. Ron had asked if he wanted to go for a pint, but Harry claimed he had errands to run in Diagon. It isn’t exactly a lie, but he already knows that the Quidditch store is out of his preferred brand of broom polish and won’t be restocked until later that week. 

Harry has no idea what he’s doing. He feels like he’s on a merry-go-round, watching Fred go by over and over again. He can’t figure out why other people are seemingly able to do this when he can’t—what’s the secret to asking somebody out? How does he keep forgetting how to be a functioning human being in Fred’s presence? 

A small burst of firecrackers go off over his head as he walks through the shop’s doors, and he instinctively crouches and reaches for his wand. A trumpet fanfare sounds, and his hair is covered by a stream of confetti that launches itself at what would traditionally be waist height on people who don’t react like they’re under attack at the first unexpected sound. Apparently, his Auror reflexes have decided to kick in all of a sudden, and he spends a moment brushing at his hair and feeling foolish. 

A red-haired head appears from behind one of the shelves, and when it rounds the end Harry can see it’s George. “Hiya Harry!” George says. “Congratulations, you’re the one hundredth customer today!” 

“What an unexpected way of celebrating that news,” Harry says, still trying to get the remnants of tiny bits of paper out of his hair. 

George laughs. “Don’t worry about the confetti; it’ll vanish on its own in another minute. We’re testing some new products that leave no traces when they’re done.” 

“Ah, good. That’s good,” Harry says. He’s already distracted, scanning around the visible aisles and front counter to see if he can spot Fred anywhere. 

George clears his throat after a moment. “So, can I help you with anything?” he asks. “A twelve-pack of Fanged Frisbees, perhaps?” George waggles his eyebrows and Harry tries not to sigh. Of course his odd behaviour yesterday would have gotten around. 

“No, I think I, er, got all the ones I needed yesterday,” Harry says. “I’m just here to pick up, um…” His mind is blank again. He really needs to get better at preparing a believable lie before entering this place. “You know, I forget. Maybe I’ll remember if I just walk around and look at things.” 

George tilts his head to the side a bit, like he’s not quite sure what to make of Harry. “Ok,” he says slowly. “Well, I’ll be at the counter if you need something.” 

Harry nods at him gratefully, then strides down the first aisle to his left that will take him out of view as quickly as possible. He has no desire to continue making a fool of himself, so he decides to methodically peruse all the aisles and see if Fred just happens to be standing in any of them. Harry could probably ask him a question about a product, like “Is this safe for a four year old child?” and maybe that could naturally segue into asking him out somehow. The Hermione voice in his head complains that his plan sounds more than a bit improbable, but he ignores it. 

Unfortunately, several minutes later Harry has been up and down every aisle in the store, and there’s no sign of Fred anywhere. At some point he grabbed something off a shelf so that he looked less suspicious, but when he emerges from the final aisle George hails him from the front counter. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” George asks. 

“Er, yeah,” Harry says, realizing that he probably needed to buy his item now or risk George’s further curiosity. He walks up to the counter and sets the box down. “Listen, do you think this is safe for a four year old?” he asks, deciding that he might as well go with his original plan. 

George looks down at the box, then back up at Harry with a slight frown. “Well,” he begins meditatively, “do you want your four year old to have all their fingers and toes at the end of it?” 

“Ideally?” Harry says, praying he can get out of this without embarrassing himself any further. 

George slowly pushes the box back towards Harry, still looking at him curiously. “Fireworks are probably the wrong choice, in that case,” he says. “Harry, is everything ok?” 

“What do you mean?” Harry asks nervously. 

“Let’s just say you seem… kind of distracted recently,” George says. “Listen, this place is pretty dead right now. What if I put the gnomes on the front counter and we go and get a drink at the Leaky so you can tell me about whatever’s bothering you?” 

Harry feels a rush of gratitude. “Would you?” he asks. “I think I could really use some advice.” 

* * *

Harry sips his drink and listens to George talk about the plans for Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. Despite ostensibly coming to this pub in order for Harry to unburden himself, he got cold feet immediately and deflected by asking his friend questions about the store. He’s pretty sure George can see through it, too. 

“So here’s the big news,” George says, glancing around before leaning forward conspiratorially. “We’re looking to expand, and we’re making an offer on another shop in Diagon Alley soon.” 

“One of the shops next to the current one, you mean?” Harry asks. 

“Nope!” George says. “It will be an entirely separate shop at the other end of the lane.” His eyes are dancing, and Harry feels like he’s missed something. 

“So there will be two Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes stores down the street from each other?” 

“The new one will have a slightly different name to suggest the more mature audience we want to attract. We’re calling it Weasley’s Wild Wix right now.” 

“Huh,” Harry says. “So it’s a toy store for adults?” 

“Close,” George says with a grin. “It’s adult toys.” 

Harry feels his face heat up. “Really?” he asks. “Like… magical adult toys? For, you know?” 

George laughs and takes a drink. “Yes, you’ve got the idea,” he says. “Want me to go on?” 

“No, that’s fine,” Harry says hastily. He suddenly finds himself thinking about Fred holding an adult toy and winking at him, and it’s just a very overwhelming mental image. “That sounds very exciting. For you. And your business.” He takes a quick drink to stop himself from babbling. 

George laughs again. “Ok, that means it’s your turn,” he says easily. “Spill. What’s got you looking so flustered these days?” 

Harry dips a finger in his drink and begins to draw aimlessly with it on the table in front of him. “How did you and Hermione get together?” he finally asks. 

“You know her,” George replies. “She came to me with a list of reasons she thought we should go on a date. She’s very direct when she wants to be.” 

“And that was it?” Harry asks, a bit desperately. “You saw this list and decided to go out with her?” 

“Sod the list,” George says easily. “Don’t much care for them. Hermione was really earnest about it, and I thought, ‘well, why not?’, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says morosely. He’s absolute pants at making lists. Maybe he could convince Hermione to help him with it. 

“What’s all this about?” George asks. “You’re not trying to get Hermione to go out with you, are you? Because last I checked I think she’s into monogamy, mate.” 

“Berk,” Harry says. He tosses a pretzel at George, who catches it easily and takes a bite. 

“In fact, speak of the devil,” George declares, looking towards the pub’s doorway. Harry follows his gaze and sees Hermione standing there, looking around. When George waves at her she lights up and makes her way over. 

“Hello boys!” she says cheerfully as she reaches their table. George slides over on his bench to make room for her, and she presses a kiss against his cheek as she sits down. “I stopped in at the shop and the gnomes told me you were at the Leaky. Nice to see you, Harry!” 

“Er, hi, Hermione,” Harry says, forcing a smile. He supposes it’s probably for the best that she arrived; now he will be less likely to spill his deepest darkest romantic secrets to the twin of his crush. 

“I’m pretty sure Harry was just about to tell me who he’s been pining over for the past few weeks,” George tells Hermione. “You’re just in time.” 

“Oooh!” Hermione says, eyes bright as she leans forward. “Go on! We’ve all been wondering!” 

“Wait,” Harry says, horrified, trying to figure out which point to address first. “Who’s the ‘we’?” 

Hermione brushes away the question. “Oh, you know, just people who know you.” 

“Who see you moping everywhere,” George says helpfully. “Looking lovesick.” 

“I don’t look lovesick!” Harry objects. 

“Sorry, mate, but you really do.” 

Harry buries his face in his hands. “This is a disaster,” he says to nobody, really. 

He feels Hermione pat his head reassuringly. “There, there,” she says. And then because she’s Hermione and believes in the power of solving problems, she continues: “What are you going to do about it?” 

Harry sighs. “Is ignoring it and hoping it goes away an option?” 

“Look, mate,” George says gently. “Have you thought about pulling a Hermione and going and telling… this person?” 

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” Hermione says. 

Harry just lets out a big sigh. He knows he’s wallowing, but it’s kind of nice to do it around his friends for once. 

“Ok, try this,” George says. “What’s the worst that could happen if you actually used your words?” 

“I ruin everything,” Harry says into his hands. He’s thought a lot about this outcome already. “And I make everyone around me uncomfortable.” 

There’s a pregnant pause, and he raises his face from his hands just enough to look at his friends. George is sitting back against the booth wearing a slight frown, and Hermione has her chin on her hands, regarding Harry as if he’s an unusually recalcitrant puzzle. 

“What?” he asks. “It’s true.” 

“Ruin everything,” Hermione says to herself, and while she’s looking right at him he can practically see her mind working away. She suddenly gasps. “Harry, is it Ron?” 

“Oh,” George says. “Yeah, I can see how that could be awkward.” 

“What?” Harry asks, shocked out of his misery. “No! He’s my best mate!” 

“Exactly, and you live together, and you’re training together,” Hermione says. “Sorry, it just fit.” 

“Nothing against Ron, of course,” Harry says quickly. “He’s really great. Always has been. But we’re mates. You’re right, though. Ron’s probably the only worse choice possible.” 

“Listen, Harry,” George says. “I think we’re at the point where you need to give us a name if you want any meaningful help from us.” 

“Better out than in,” Hermione says encouragingly. 

Harry heaves a great sigh, but he knows he’s going to do it. “It’s Fred,” he says, looking down at the table. 

“Ah,” Hermione says. “That explains a lot.” She reaches out and pats his hand reassuringly. 

Harry looks pleadingly at George. “Do you think he…” he begins, but he trails off as his friend grimaces. 

George considers Harry for a moment. “Fred's always been kind of quiet about this stuff,” he finally says. “It’s the one thing we never talked about much. He just laughs and says he’s going to be a professional bachelor when I ask him, but you should know that Oliver keeps trying to set him up with his friends from the league. It’s this ongoing crusade he has—last month he suggested one of his teammates, a pretty fit bloke named Roger. I think Fred wasn’t against the idea.” 

“Great,” Harry mutters. 

“Listen,” George says. “It sounds like you just need a bit of extra confidence. Hermione had her list when she came and swept me off my feet. Maybe we can help you.” He winks at Hermione, who sticks her tongue out at him in reply. Harry feels a yearning inside of him; it’s not like Fred doesn’t wink at him in the same way, but he can’t help but feel jealous of the quiet closeness that George and Hermione exhibit. 

“Have you ever asked someone out?” Hermione asks him. 

Harry thinks of Cho—yes, he had invited her to the Yule Ball, but everything after that had been initiated by her. His time with Ginny had begun with her throwing herself into his arms, so that doesn’t count, and he hadn’t really looked for any new relationships after they’d amicably parted ways after the war. Not until he’d started noticing Fred’s presence, feeling that little bubbling surge of excitement when they’d laugh together about something. 

“Um,” he says, stalling. “I guess not.” 

“Ok, then maybe all you need is a bit of coaching,” George suggests. “A few practice runs at it.” 

“What, like with other people?” Harry says, making a face. 

“Pretend I’m Fred,” George says. “How do you ask me out?” 

Just the thought of it makes Harry’s heart start to hammer. “Um,” he says, finding it difficult to meet George’s eyes. 

George sits there calmly and takes a pull from his drink. “Hiya Harry,” he says, and his voice is slightly lower than usual. “How’s it going?” 

“Fred doesn’t sound like that,” Harry argues. 

“What do you mean?” George asks, still using the wrong voice. “It’s me, Fred. Don’t I look quite handsome today?” 

Harry throws another pretzel across the table, and it bounces off of George’s face this time. “Even if you weren’t doing that thing with your voice, you don’t sound anything like him.” 

“We’re twins!” George objects, looking skeptical. 

“I can always tell which of you is talking,” Harry says with a shrug. “And there’s a thing that Fred does when he smiles that your cheeks don’t do. I don’t think this is going to work; I just keep focusing on all the things you’re doing wrong.” 

George sits back reflectively. “Wow,” he says. “Well, this has been illuminating.” 

“I think I just need to do it,” Harry says. He’s suddenly tired of his inaction, of his passivity. “I just need to go up to him and say ‘Do you want to get dinner with me? As a d-date?’” He barely stumbles over the last word, but he can feel his palms getting sweaty as he contemplates enacting his plan. It’s awful. 

“It’s straightforward and to the point,” Hermione says encouragingly. “I think it’s a good idea.” 

“Listen,” Harry asks George seriously. “How long do you think I should stay away from Sunday dinners when he says no? I don’t want to make things awkward.” 

“Merlin,” George says. “Ok, here’s my last piece of advice for you: come by the shop tomorrow. I don’t start until late afternoon, so you’ll have Fred to yourself.” 

Harry’s pulse starts racing just thinking about it. “Tomorrow?” he asks nervously. 

Hermione pats his hand sympathetically. “Let us know how it goes!” she says, far too cheerfully in Harry’s opinion. Harry just buries his face in his drink and tries not to think about it. 

* * *

The following day, when Harry pushes open the door to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, he’s prepared for fireworks and confetti. He is _not_ prepared for a chorus of gnomes to screech “We’re closed!” right next to his ear, and he jumps at least a foot off the ground while reaching instinctively for his wand once again. Strangely, the gnomes appear to be unconcerned about his presence after they’ve accomplished their task and they return to chattering amongst themselves in Gnomish while Harry waits for his heart rate to return to normal. In front of him there are a staggering number of unopened boxes, forming a waist-high barrier that prevents any further progress into the shop. 

“As you can see, we’re not really open right now,” comes Fred’s voice. His head appears from around the doorway into the back room behind the counter, and his face lights up as he sees Harry. “Oh, it’s you,” he says. “That’s different.” 

Harry feels a small little ball of warmth in his stomach at that look. “Hi,” he says. “What’s all this?” 

Fred steps out from the back room, wiping an arm across his face, and Harry can see that he’s sweating. “We had a mixup with a manufacturer,” he says. “These weren’t supposed to arrive yet, but the courier service wouldn’t take them back. The owls just flew right off; it’s a mess. I’m going to store them in the back for now so they’re out of the way, but they’re too delicate to shrink down, unfortunately.” 

“Want some help?” Harry asks, and Fred beams at him. 

“That’d be brilliant,” he says. “Just grab any of them and bring them back here. I’ll show you where we’re keeping them.” 

Half an hour later, Harry levitates the final four boxes from the doorway, keeping his wand trained on them as he floats them towards the back room and follows behind. Lifting them with magic isn’t strenuous the same way that physically carrying them would be, but there’s still a weight that seeps into his body the longer he maintains the charms. These boxes are long and narrow, and he carefully navigates the space between the counter and the wall behind it, trying not to cause any midair collisions. Fred’s just coming out of the back room as Harry reaches it, and the other man ends up flattening himself against the door frame to give Harry space to get by. 

“Sorry, coming through,” Harry mumbles, and the space is tight enough that he ends up with a chest full of boxes, his wand arm brushing against Fred’s torso. He tries not to think about it; he’s just doing something nice for a friend, that’s all. 

“Is that it, then?” Fred asks, not moving from the doorway. 

Harry continues into the store room and deposits his boxes with the others, which take up a significant amount of space in a rather slapdash fashion. “Should be,” he says, stretching out his arms and hands to relieve the soreness from repeated charm motions. 

“You’re a saviour once again, Harry,” Fred says, and he laughs when Harry scowls at him. "Seriously, though, thanks for the help. What did you come in here for originally?” 

“Oh, you know,” Harry says, suddenly nervous. “Just, er…” 

Fred holds up a finger. “Hold that thought,” he says. “I’m too warm now.” He reaches down and tugs his jumper over his head, pulling it all the way off. He’s wearing a nicely-fitted t-shirt underneath but it catches in the jumper and gets pulled along, exposing an expanse of Fred’s trim, pale, and surprisingly freckled stomach. Harry finds his eyes are glued to the sight. 

“Sorry about that,” Fred says. “What were you saying?” He’s discarded his jumper onto a nearby box and returned his wayward shirt to its rightful place, and Harry hurriedly refocuses on Fred’s face. He feels like his cheeks are burning. 

“Er, nothing important,” he says. He seizes desperately on the first conversational topic that comes to mind: “What was in those boxes, anyway?” 

Fred waggles his eyebrows mischievously. “Ah, now that’s an interesting question,” he says. “You know about our plans for expansion, right? George said he told you about them.” 

“You, ah, talked to George yesterday?” Harry asks, suddenly nervous. 

“Yep,” Fred says easily, moving towards Harry. “So all these boxes are the first products for our expanded store. The plan was to keep them with the manufacturer until we actually had acquired the new space, but that’s how it goes sometimes.” 

“Oh?” Harry says, a bit shrilly. “So these are all… toys?” 

“You bet,” Fred says, bending down to look at the label on the side of one box. “We’ve got toys that buzz, thrust, and work over long distances. There are charms for sending sexy Patronuses, and discreet personal daydreams, self-tying ropes, and animated feathers and other textured toys. In fact, I think that last set of boxes you brought over were our specialty Hogwarts Giant Squid.” 

Harry glances at where he placed those long narrow boxes and licks his lips. “You… have a toy based on the giant squid,” he says, feeling slightly horrified. “I don’t have any idea how that works. I don’t think I particularly want to have an idea of how that works, either.” 

“To be honest, this whole thing is really George’s baby,” Fred says, leaning a bit closer to Harry as if sharing a secret. “He’s going to run the expanded store, and I’m going to keep looking after this one.” 

“Oh,” Harry says. He’s finding it a bit difficult to think with Fred’s face so close to his. “That sounds like a good compromise.” 

“George mentioned you wanted to talk to me about something,” Fred says, and the playful attitude from earlier is more subdued now. “Is that what you came in today about?” 

“Kind of?” Harry says. He steels himself. There’s probably no better opportunity than this; he can just get up and leave after he’s gently turned down and never return to this store again. He’ll ask Ron to pass on his regrets to Molly when he can’t show his face at Sunday dinners any more. 

“I mean, yes,” he stammers. “I was just wondering if perhaps you would like to have a drink with me. Or dinner or something. Or dessert. But only if you’d like.” He can feel himself starting to babble, and clamps his mouth shut. He’s running his fingers over the label of the box that Fred was looking at earlier, and as he reads the label he’s a bit disturbed to realize that it houses something called “The Whomping Willow.” 

His fingers still as Fred places his hand over Harry’s, and Harry looks up to meet the other man’s eyes. Lord but they’re nice eyes to look at, Harry thinks, even as he notes the smile on Fred’s face. It’s not his mischievous smile or the look he gets when he’s determined to do something slightly rash, but it’s something softer and warmer than anything Harry’s seen directed his way before. 

“I think that sounds cracking,” Fred says, and Harry goes a little lightheaded. “What do you think? Shall we go right now and leave the store closed?” 

“Just to be clear, I mean as a date, with me,” Harry persists. 

“Oh, in that case, would you like me to dress up?” Fred asks. “I’m still in my work clothes, you know.” He winks at Harry this time, but there’s still the earlier warmth in his face. 

“No,” Harry says, and he feels a smile spreading over his face. “Don’t bother on my account.” He can’t help it if his eyes dip to Fred’s well-fitted shirt once more. It really is a nice view. 

Fred definitely notices Harry’s gaze, and his grin widens. “Well then,” he says. 

“Well,” Harry answers, bringing his gaze back to Fred’s face, and it feels like there’s a magical force drawing them inexorably together. All of a sudden their faces are only inches apart, and honestly, it’s a lot for Harry to take in. Then Fred’s tongue darts out and wets his lips, and Harry’s gone; his lips are pressed to Fred’s, who gives a little gasp before returning the kiss enthusiastically. 

Harry murmurs in appreciation as Fred opens his mouth a little, deepening their kiss, bringing a whole new sensation as Fred’s tongue darts out in exploration. Harry wants to press his face as close as possible to Fred’s, breathe in the new and intoxicating scent of his skin, but their noses bump at an awkward angle as he tries to do so and Fred gives a little breathless laugh. 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, abashed, but Fred just smiles and brings his face close again to resume where they left off. 

Just as Harry’s starting to find the rhythm again, there’s a sudden burst of fireworks from the front room that makes him jump and he accidentally knees Fred in the groin. This is followed up by the chorus of gnomes shrieking “We’re closed!”, and George’s voice can be heard shouting “I pay your salaries!” back at them. 

Fred groans, possibly in pain from Harry’s well-developed Auror reflexes. “Merlin’s saggy balls,” he says, and he leans his forehead against Harry’s, but he’s also smiling. “New plan—George watches the store and we go somewhere we won’t be disturbed.” 

“Honestly, I’d settle for anywhere where I’m not surrounded by boxes of sex toys,” Harry says. 

“You’re right, that’s fourth date material at the earliest,” Fred says, and Harry laughs. It’s like a release of tension inside of him, and he feels almost lightheaded with it. 

“Come on,” Fred says, straightening out with a wince and offering Harry his hand. “I owe you a dinner or drink or dessert or something, if I recall correctly.” He shoots Harry a lopsided smile. 

Harry stalls for a moment as he hears the sound of the other twin moving around out front in the store. “George is going to be insufferably smug,” he warns as he accepts Fred’s hand. 

“Let’s go give him something to be smug about, then,” Fred says, with a smile so mischievous that Harry laughs again and decides he can overlook this indignity. On the whole, he feels like he’s come out ahead. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [@lastontheboat](https://lastontheboat.tumblr.com/). Please leave a comment or kudos or drop me a note!


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